The Twelve Over Gotham
by randomideaguy
Summary: Carrie Kelley, an intrepid young reporter from the Daily Planet finds something awry at a Wayne Family function. Who are the Twelve? What are they hiding?


Only the Wayne Family would hold a party for the loss of one of the city's most important citizens. Despite their steady giving to charity and police work, the Wayne's have always been a notorious partiers ever since the prodigal son's return. The middle aged Bruce Wayne isn't so spry as he once was, now walking up to the podium on the elaborate stage set up in his own backyard.

"Twenty years ago, I came back to Gotham." He leads with that. I swear to god this man loves being the center of attention, even at his middle age.

"I spent years out in the world, but I always knew that no matter what happened, Gotham would be my home." He continues. Cute, folksy I guess - for a billionaire.

"During that entire time, Jim Gordon has been one of my closest friends." Bruce continues. I can see something stirring in him, maybe a memory.

"He's done more than anyone to clean this city up. He's a man I both admire and look up to. He has been since I was eight years old." Wayne continues. His son - Damian - shifts uncomfortably in the suit he is wearing.

"While his death is a major loss for this city, we're here not to mourn his passing, but to celebrate his life." Wayne keeps going. Do I see a tear in his eyes?

"To James Gordon." Wayne raises his glass of champagne followed quickly by everyone else in the crowd. There's a quiet toast as everyone drinks.

"You're quite a young lady, Miss…?" A man next to me interrupts my thoughts, and the furious scribbling of my pencil stops as I turn to look at him. An old man in a top hat, very well dressed. And very wrinkly. Oswald Cobblepot, the owner of the Iceberg Lounge.

"Kelley." I say to him, before quickly looking down at my pad again. The moment seems to have passed, with Bruce heading down the stage. His adopted son, Dick, stands nearby seemingly ready to help but the old man waves him off stubbornly.

"How long have you known Bruce?" I look back up at Cobblepot, he leans back in his chair a bit. Calculating.

"A long time, Ms. Kelley. I've been aware of him for quite some time - probably that whole twenty years, actually - but I was formally introduced to him about sixteen, maybe seventeen years ago. A wonderful man, with such dedication." Cobblepot said.

"Yeah, maybe to making a profit." I mutter. Despite his old age, Cobblepot hears me and breaks out into a hearty laugh.

"Trust me Ms. Kelley, Bruce Wayne cannot make a profit to save his life. I'm surprised he still has a fortune at all, really." Cobblepot explained. I take a sip of my champagne, briefly interested. He's looking down my dress, I think.

"You don't mean that whole charity hogwash, do you?" I ask him. Cobblepot shakes his head.

"You're right, it is hogwash." Cobblepot says, taking a quick drink of his own. He looks across the room towards Wayne.

"I think he's hiding something." I explain my purpose here. Cobblepot looks back at me, once again filled with amusement.

"And what might that be?" Cobblepot asked.

"I'm not sure yet." I reply.

"Oh, but you wouldn't be here unless you suspected something. Do tell, what is it? Blackmail? Insider Trading? Corporate Espionage?" Cobblepot chuckled, or maybe it was more of a chortle. I frown at his teasing.

"I should probably go talk to some of the other guests." I excuse myself, standing up. He's definitely looking at my dress, but he nods politely for me to go. I turn around, surveying the packed backyard - Congressmen, lawyers, policemen, socialites, the works. Everyone who's everyone is here.

I spy two people on the edge of the gathering, both watching over a chess board carefully. I waltz over, exchanging my champagne for a martini but keeping my notebook and pencil clutched in his my other hand. I arrive at the table to find a grey haired old man sporting a green tie and a much younger man with black hair.

Edward Nashton, board game creator, talk show host, former private eye - oh yeah and and he used to be a supervillain. Wonder what his connection to Wayne is?

Timothy Drake, one of the board members of Wayne Enterprises and by all accounts a very shrewd businessman. Son of one of Wayne's friends. Easy connection there.

"Mind if I sit and watch? Ask a few questions?" I ask. They both don't respond, looking intensely at the board for a few more seconds before Drake looks up and smiles at me as if just now seeing me. It's a welcome change from Cobblepot's staring. I smile and repeat my question.

"Of course!" Drake said, motioning to the chair next to him. Nashton doesn't seem to notice me, staring intensely at the board.

"He says it helps keep the Alzheimer's at bay." Tim says to me confidentially. I nod, having heard about Nashton's condition a few years ago.

"And you're just sweet enough to oblige him?" I ask, cynically. Either he doesn't notice, or he ignores the tone.

"I guess so. I love the game, too. There's a mutual benefit involved." Tim explains, smirking slightly as Nashton makes a move.

"Check." He says confidently.

"And what's your mutual benefit for being here? You were never really connected with Gordon. Are you hoping to get a raise by cozying up to the bossman?" I ask him. Tim turns and looks at me like I have three heads.

Okay, maybe I came on a little strong. But sometimes you gotta do that to get information in this world. He turns back to the game, thinking for a second.

"Commissioner Gordon has done a lot for this city. I don't need a reward to celebrate his death… Checkmate." Tim says, standing up from the table. I worry that I offended him.

But only a little worry.

"Goodnight, Miss Kelley." He says walking away. I scratch my head, wondering when I introduced myself to him. Nashton seems to notice me for the first time, holding out his hand to shake.

"Good evening, young lady." Nashton says in his very stereotypical old man voice. I smile politely and shake back.

"Good evening, Mr. Nashton." I reply.

"What brings you here this fine evening?" He asks, looking me in the eye. I shrug.

"I've just got some questions I'd like answering is all." I reply back to him, returning his eye contact. He beams, an almost toothless smile.

"I love questions. Do you have any for me?" He asked, seemingly excited now. I consider it for a moment.

"Uh, yeah. How long have you known Mr. Wayne?" I ask him. Nashton leans back in his chair, stroking the light patch of white beard on his chin.

"Well, I must admit that I met Bruce a few times as the Riddler, always dressing up and trying to steal things." He explains. I nod in reply, looking at him.

"But I didn't really get to know him until my rehabilitation. He's a wonderful, kind man. Paid for my therapy and for the startup for my game company." Nashton explained, smiling brightly. He seemed peaceful, a counterpoint to the videos I had seen of him as the Riddler.

"Did you ever repay him?" I ask, hoping to maybe find something useful. But Nashton shook his head.

"He never would let me. Every check I sent to him got canceled and returned to my account. I hope he's doing okay - he cared for James a lot." Nashton said.

"Well, I'm sure you did, too. Weren't you on the force together, back in the day?" I ask. Nashton had once been a coroner at the GCPD. He nods, more sadly this time.

"Yes, yes I was." He says, now staring at the empty chess board.

"Well, I've got to excuse myself. Thanks for talking with me." I stand up, making an exit before the conversation can get awkward. I down the rest of the martini as I climb up the steps to the mansion, looking for the bathroom. A pass a few people and thank Wayne for having the foresight to put up signs so that guests could find their way around the elaborate mansion.

I quickly close the stall door behind me, sitting down and pulling out my phone. There's two text messages one from my boyfriend - Terry - and the other from my boss - Clark.

"Having fun?" The first one asks.

"A little, just working." I reply, switching over to the text from Clark.

"Any interesting stories?" He asks. I type back quickly.

"Nothing yet, just a eulogy and a lot of free flowing alcohol." I reply, hearing a ding as I receive another message. I flip back over to the text conversation with Terry.

"Can't wait to see you tomorrow! ;)" I reads. I smile, typing back.

"Me neither! I'll text you after the party. Love you!" I type. Just as I hit send I hear the sound of the door slamming shut and sniffling. The inner sleuth in me comes to life as I quietly slip the phone back into my pocket, standing up and slowly creeping to the door of the stall. I peek through the crack to see none other than the new Commissioner - Barbara Gordon - wiping tears from her eyes. She whips around quickly.

"Come out if you're going to stare at me." She says. How the hell did she see me? I open the door slowly, awkwardly. Barbara doesn't turn her wheelchair to face me but wipes the tears furiously off her face. I walk over, carefully.

"I'm sorry for your loss." I say, placing my hand on the edge of her wheelchair. Barbara simply wipes her eyes and looks at herself in the mirror.

"Yeah." She says. Clearly she's heard that a lot today, and I feel kinda bad.

"Seriously, it's bullshit." I continue. Now she smiles, turning to look at me.

"Thanks." She says. I nod, mumbling something about leaving as I exit the bathroom. As soon as the door closes behind me I let out a huge breath of air. I look around, seeing that this area of the mansion is largely deserted. The main staircase is in view, likely leading up to Wayne's office.

I only consider for a moment the idea of snooping around. But I know what my boss would say. And more importantly I know what my dad would have said. I clench my fist tightly around my notebook.

"I need a smoke." I mumble to myself, turning the corner away from the main event and heading towards the forest side of the property. I pass a few unlit, unused rooms, and see lots of pictures of dead people - deceased Wayne family members, and one of an old butler. I finally reach a sliding glass door and let myself out to a balcony.

I barely make it to the edge when I realize that I'm not alone. There's three men on the balcony, sitting at a table. One with red hair, another raven haired boy, and a large black man. I can barely see the backyard and the festivities behind them.

"Anyone got a smoke?" I ask sheepishly.

"Yeah, sure!" The red haired one stands up, offering a cigarette to me. The raven haired guy pulls a chair up between himself and the black man. I nod in thanks, sitting down and letting the black man light my cigarette. I take a few drags, feeling myself slowly calm down after a minute or two. They all let me sit quietly and I enjoy the wind flowing through my hair.

"_Back to work, Carrie!"_ My inner reporter tells me. I sigh and take the cigarette away from my mouth, looking between the three of them.

"I'm Carrie." I say, simply and take another drag. Not the most confident intro, but I think I need a few more drags before I feel like talking again.

"Hey Carrie! I'm Roy, this is my friend Jason, and this bug lug here is Waylon." The red-haired guy, Roy, said. Jason nodded quietly.

"Bonjour, ma'am." Waylon said, his voice low and gravely.

"Why are you guys up here and not down there?" I ask, motioning to the party below. I think I can spot Wayne slow dancing with Selina Kyle down in the distance. Jason grunts something, leading to Roy to continue talking.

"Well, grumpy pants here and my buddy Waylon don't like hanging out with normal folk." Roy says, waving between the two of them.

"And you?" I ask, smiling at him. He smiles back, and suddenly seems very familiar.

"Me, I love being the center of attention! But Jason and Waylon here are my pals, I stick with them even if it means being on this lonely balcony." Roy explains, finishing by taking a drink from the drink in his hand. I notice that he and Waylon have water bottles, while only Jason has a beer.

"Well, it can't be too lonely. I'm up here…" I say, thinking on Roy's face. Suddenly it clicks.

"You're Roy Harper, right? Used to work for Queen Industries?" I ask, trying to shy away from the whole drug scandal. Even without that, he stills turns a little red from the name drop.

"A long time ago, yeah." He looks down at the table. Damn I am a poor conversationist tonight.

"Well, I'm gonna go back to the party. My boss wouldn't like me lounging around for too long." I say, standing up to leave. Roy definitely watches me leave, but the other two - the grumpy pants, as he put it - don't seem to pay much attention to me. I quickly retrace my steps, nodding to Barbara as I pass her in the atrium. I soon find myself back on the main staircase to the backyard, looking around for more people I can interview about the Waynes.

I spot another big name - this time Victor Fries - sitting down in my former seat at the table with Oswald Cobblepot. As I approach, I notice two things. One, he looks very good for a man his age - I guess the whole ice thing really didn't preserve him pretty well. Two, his hands were shaking, ever so slightly.

They seem to be talking about something important, because they both stop as soon as they both notice me approaching. Cobblepot looks at me again, but this time there is no wandering gaze. He seems worried - but about what? Cobblepot takes a few seconds to think.

"So, Pamela's working late tonight?" He asks, turning back to Victor who is staring curiously towards the stage and the large picture of the late Jim Gordon. He's shaking more than I realize. I'm kind worried, actually.

"Y-yeah." He says simply. Still staring.

"What's wrong with him?" I ask bluntly. Cobblepot looks at me audaciously - how could I lack any sense of decorum! But I can see that he forces himself to calm down again quickly. He looks between me and the shaking Victor Fries.

"Honestly I do not know, Ms. Kelley. But, I worry he might be having a stroke." Cobblepot says, staring at Victor intently.

"Could you go get Mr. Wayne? He's a good doctor." Cobblepot says. Nodding, I stand up, now more concerned with what was happening to Mr. Fries than worried about interacting with a billionaire.

"I haven't seen this in a long time…" I hear Cobblepot say quietly as I stand up and begin walking over to the table where Mr. Wayne is sitting with Richard, Damian, a young blonde woman, and an asian-looking woman. They are in the middle of laughing at a joke the blonde woman said when I approach. Richard immediately picks up on the worry in my face, and a quick nudge gets Bruce's attention to me.

"Ah, hello. I don't believe we've met." Bruce says, smiling at me. I clear my throat - there's no time to waste!

"There's something wrong with Mr. Victor. He's over there. I hear you were a doctor and -" I began explaining, but was cut off as Wayne was already walking past me. Quite agile for an old cripple, I thought as Grayson swooped past me as well. I fell in behind him, following the two back to my original table.

"What seems to be the problem?" Dick asks Cobblepot as Wayne gets down on one knee and looks Victor in the face.

"I'm not sure. He came up and something about the tide and then he started shaking." Cobblepot explained. He seemed tired.

"Victor!" Wayne said his voice very commanding - but in a good way, if that makes sense. He snapped his hands in front of Victor's face, causing him to immediately stop shaking. It was almost more scary now, as he sat stock still and stared into the distance. He opened his mouth, agonizingly slow.

"The tide…" He mutters, "The tide. The tide! The Tide!" Victor's yelling now, standing up and knocking his chair over. Wayne's raises his cane to the left just as Grayson is about to walk past him to get between the two.

"Yes, Victor, what about the tide?" Wayne asks, earnestly. I start to feel a little bad for my earlier distrust of him. Victor looks around, his eyes bugging out.

"They gave me… they gave me one job. The tide! The tide!" Victor's yelling again, turning in circles like he's going crazy. Suddenly tears are coming from his eyes, his face turning into a maniacal grin.

"Bruce!" Dick yells, but the old man ignores him. Victor raises an arm, and I quickly see a gleam of silver as a muzzle comes out of the sleeve and releases a jet of water directly at Wayne. The pressure of it is so strong that Wayne flies back, hitting me and sending us both toppling to the ground.

I hear the sounds of a struggle, and by the time I get up Dick is sitting on top of Victor with his knee pressing into his back. I am suddenly aware that a crowd has gathered around. Tim suddenly reappears, helping Bruce up and Cobblepot stumbles over to me and helps me up. I brush the grass off of my dress.

"Is everything okay?" Tim asks, looking between Bruce and Victor.

"It's fine, it was just a relapse." Dick explains, trying to calm the situation down. Bruce hobbles a little closer to the downed Fries.

"That wasn't a relapse. We need to lock down the property, search the -" Bruce began say.

"Let them go home, Bruce." Dick said, cutting him off. Bruce stood there for only a second before nodding.

"You're right." He said, turning around to see the crowd that had gathered. His face looked different, longer, sadder.

"Well, I think we've all had a little too much to drink here." He said. No one laughed. He then grimaced, an expression that looked very natural on his face.

"I think we should all pack it in for the night. Thank you all for coming." Bruce then turned around, walking over to Dick and the downed Fries.

"Beryl and I will show you to your cars. Follow me." Tim said, motioning to the still standing crowd. They quickly dispersed after that, ushered out by various Wayne employees and friends. I managed to avoid all of them, staying on the scene and leaning on Cobblepot. I felt a little unsteady, but he didn't seem to mind my presence.

"I don't think this was quite the story that Clark expected." I thought to myself.

"The tide, the tide." Victor continued, face in the grass. There were veins on his bald head, now. Bruce's brow was furrowed as he and Dick looked at each other.

"Tetch?" Dick asked. He was probably referring to Jervis Tetch, the Mad Hatter. He used to use custom-made hats to mind-control people. But Bruce shook his head.

"Too sophisticated. Looked like Joker venom for a second…" Bruce replied. I shuddered, remembering images I saw in the news and in schoolbooks growing up - the Joker. A horrible mass murderer, thankfully long dead now. At least I hoped.

"I know one thing for sure, he wouldn't do this of his own free will. Not now." Cobblepot spoke up from his spot next to me. Bruce nodded in reply, his face dark. Dick looked at him carefully.

"So… someone new?" He asked.

"I hope so, it's been slow around here for a while!" Damian spoke up, standing next to the blonde woman. She elbowed him in the stomach, hard. Damian shut up, scowling at her.

"Before you even think about it - we'll take care of it, Bruce." Dick said, standing up as Tim arrived and put a shot of tranquilizer in Fries' arm. The old man went limp, passing out. Bruce leaned heavily on his cane.

"I know you will. I trust you, Dick." Bruce replied. Dick smiled for a second, before turning to Damian.

"You know what to do." Dick said, and within moments the two of them were off, sprinting towards the mansion. I was left standing there completely and utterly confused. But I did know one thing. I pulled out my phone, quickly pulling up my text messages. First Terry.

"Change of plans, babe. Might have to stay a few more days, exciting stuff happening here!" I texted back to him, before flipping to my messages with Clark.

"Get this. Mr. Freeze blows up at Wayne party. Gotham's first supervillain in years?" I text him back. I look back up at the gathered group - most of them very solemn looking. But here I am, smiling from ear to ear.

Carrie Kelley's got a story to tell.


End file.
